Last Friday night, Tuck and I sat in the pouring rain with an umbrella in hand and watched the first football game of the season. Everything was wet and I wrapped my rain coat around us tighter. I tucked his legs under him, shielded him with my hood. A lady sitting next to me cuddled closer and we worked together to keep le bebe dry and happy.
The rain abated eventually, and Lady Next To Me (who is one of the most genuine, lovely people ever, ever, ever) and I started chatting. Tuck switched from my lap to hers, laughed and clapped his hands, stood and looked over my shoulder, closed his eyes and almost fell asleep, and then jolted awake to the sound of the band.
I love this boy. I love him with this fierce, teeth clenching, forceful kind of love and I'm not sure where it even came from. He's amazing and he learns something new every day, and he is damn cute. Yet, I still have no problem saying no when people ask if there's a plan for another on the horizon.
Even if my heart lurches every time he says mama.
Even if I get a little sad when he grows out of a pair of shoes.
Even if my heart stutters at the thought of not rocking him to sleep.
TT and I socialized with several people that evening, and I'm pretty sure he flirted with everyone. Eventually, the question that always seems to come floated on up to the surface. I smiled, said my custom, "Nope, there's not another baby on my agenda." And you guys - that HAS to be okay. I'm not quite sure where the YOU MUST HAVE MORE THAN ONE KID Ordinance came from, but screw that.
And then came the one line I hear far too often: "Well, aren't you Miss Selfish?!"
At the time, I laughed off the dig, because listen: I've never been the girl with the witty comeback. It wasn't until later - hours later - that my anger bubbled. How dare anyone - and I do mean ANYONE - condemn an extremely personal choice of another person? And when, someone please tell me when did my reproductive choices become the business of the majority?
I've read about this topic so many times before (go on, I dare you ... google "only having one child" and see what kind of firestorm you find) and I gotta say, it'll grate on a girl. ...Especially a girl that waited eight years to have a baby to begin with. This girl endured eight years of, "You guys would be great parents!" "Have you thought about having a baby?" "When's the little one coming along?" And I'll be damned if I spend another 18 years enduring, "Ah, you HAVE to have one more!"
Because you know what? Even if I made my choice based on two a.m. wake up calls? Even if I made my choice based on baby poop? Even if I don't want to deal with diaper rash? Even if my choice was made based on something small like that? It should be okay. Because ... for the record? It's MY choice. And what if my decision ISN'T based on baby poop? What if it really is much bigger than that?
[It's really based upon my choice to continue to shop at Baby Gap and Restoration Hardware.]
[That was a joke.]
My job right now - and it's a pretty big job - is to raise a boy that is kind to others and is Godly ... one that is thoughtful, reflective, and helpful. My job is to raise a productive and giving member of society. Because if I want to devote all of my energy to raising one child or seventeen, the only commentary I should hear from anyone is if my child is running amuck in the local Wal-Mart - setting off every noise-making toy - with no shoes, dirty clothes, scissors in one hand, Lifesavers in his mouth, and a Mountain Dew in his other hand. And even then, I suggest you tread lightly hookers, because I'm obviously raising the kid that everyone else is going to want to hang out with. And that's the truth.
. About Moi .
I love, love, love flannel sheets and I am really passionate about lists on post it notes and most of the time I'm sad that no one else is as excited as I am about Diet Mountain Dew. I also adore run-on sentences. And if you need an awesome virtual assistant, who is full of personality and really good jokes? Email me. I'm your girl.
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He saw her before he saw
anything else in the room.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
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